


Behind the Curtain

by keeperofthefour



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Heavy Angst, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthefour/pseuds/keeperofthefour
Summary: When Zen makes a big mistake, sweet Yoosung is there to pick up the pieces. Is it truly a happy ending for anyone involved, though?
Relationships: Kim Yoosung/Reader, Zen | Ryu Hyun/Main Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Behind the Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come see me on tumblr and say hi @truth-be-told-im-lying.

She knew that falling in love with Zen was a risk. 

She knew that his blossoming theater career would make it difficult to maintain a romantic relationship, should he become more prominent in the public eye. 

She also knew that choosing to love him would quite possibly become the proverbial thorn in her side. 

But she was absolutely sure that she loved him. Wholly and completely, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

She tried. For two years, she kept her jealousy in check. She kept her insecurities around his beautiful and talented female co-stars to herself. They were truly happy, and everywhere they went together, people knew them and adored them, both as a couple and as individuals. She was kind, quiet, and perhaps a bit too shy. Zen was charismatic, ostentatious and outspoken– quite her opposite. But they complimented each other. A match made in heaven. A veritable fairy tale, taken straight from the plot of one of his shows, it seemed.

Had she known that his love for theater would ultimately lead to the demise of their relationship, however…she never would have let him in. 

One particular show had been an enigma from the beginning. Usually, Zen would come home and gush over rehearsals, co-stars, and choreography for hours on end when he took on a new role, but the more she considered the situation, the more she realized how closed off and almost secretive he had been with this one. Of course, he had won a lead role, but it was a much smaller production than he would normally be involved with. They were a local, fledgeling theater company, and she knew that he was being used for his notoriety to help them gain traction in the community. By reeling in such a big, local celebrity as Zen, surely they would rise to the top faster than if they tried to go it alone. 

Four weeks in, Zen seemed to spend more and more time at their makeshift rehearsal space– a warehouse in the heart of the city, transformed into a costume shop, set design studio, and even a small, black box stage where they held rehearsals six nights a week. She’d never really felt the desire to attend the rehearsals in the past, simply because she enjoyed the magic of a full-scale production, complete with costumes, makeup, and intricate set design. But this show seemed to be taking a great deal of Zen’s time and resources. Each rehearsal ran later than planned. He often came home well past midnight, exhausted, distant, and not in the mood to really talk to her as much as he used to. She had expressed her worry, and he brushed it off. “I’m okay, babe. Really. I’m just putting in a lot more hours because they’re so small. But with my help, they’re going to grow. I’m proud of it. Of them. Call it my passion project, if you will.”

His passion project. 

Her blood ran icy in her veins when he said that. Something in the tone of his voice, the far-off look in his eye, and the sly curve of his smile sent a shiver down her spine and her stomach churning. She never spoke of it, and he continued to grow more distant.

There came a night, though, when her gut feeling told her that he wasn’t giving her the whole story. He had called her around midnight, stating that the cast and crew had decided to pull an all-nighter to get some of the set painted and moved around for their upcoming opening night. She had offered to help, but he refused, citing her need for rest as she had to work the next day. He wasn’t wrong, so she stayed home– the first night she’d spent alone in the history of their relationship. She barely slept, and when she woke early the next morning, Zen was just arriving home. 

“Are you drunk?” she questioned, the stench of alcohol on his breath unmistakable; his eyes shone, and he staggered in through the sliding glass door at the rear of their townhouse, toeing off his shoes and leaning against the wall.

“Huh? Nah. Just had a couple of shots. Jaz brought a bottle, and we got a little stupid at the end, that’s all.” He caught her in a somewhat awkward embrace and kissed her forehead. “Wanna shower with me?” 

Their shower was business as usual, and she knew he would want her as soon as the water had sufficiently steamed the small bathroom, fogging over the mirror and misting the air they breathed. He took her from behind, pinned against the slick tile wall where she couldn’t see his face, thrusting up into her with purpose. He left evidence of his affections on her shoulders, her neck, sucking hard at her skin as the hot water cascaded over both of them, washing away the fluids of their combined pleasure. Afterward, she shampooed his hair and he very nearly fell asleep while having his scalp massaged. “God, babe, you spoil me, you know that?” he hummed, then turned to pamper her in kind before they climbed out.

While she prepared for work, Zen fell sound asleep, naked as the day he was born, sprawled on their bed. She draped a blanket over him and pressed her lips to his brow before she left.

At work, she was distracted and aloof, prompting her supervisor to pull her into the office and ask if she was okay. She shrugged it off as not feeling well and was asked if she wanted to take the rest of the day off. Tempting as it was, she opted to stay and work through most of the day, only because she wasn’t yet sure how to talk to Zen about his behavior that morning. He hadn’t been himself. 

He couldn’t look her in the eye. 

His voice sounded strange, distant. 

Like he was lying to her. 

LIke he was hiding something. 

Zen had never before given her a reason to distrust him. They had an open, honest relationship: one in which they told each other every sordid detail of their day, no matter how mundane. So when he closed off, she knew. The thought alone almost killed her. 

She did end up leaving work about an hour early, taking the long way home from her office. She drug her feet along the sidewalk, watching her slow steps, feeling tired and out of sorts. The more she thought about how he’d been acting lately, the more her worst fears gained traction. 

Their house was quiet when she arrived home, Zen having already left for rehearsal, even though they weren’t supposed to start until later in the evening. She had hoped they could have dinner together and talk about what was happening; her eyes burned, her nose tickled, and she blinked away angry tears, kicking off her shoes and throwing her purse into an armchair near the door. In the bedroom, she changed into her favorite sweatpants and one of Zen’s old t-shirts, lifting the collar to her nose to inhale his scent that clung to the fabric.

On her way to the kitchen to find something simple for dinner, she saw it: his phone, lying on top of a pile of dirty clothes in the hallway. The screen was black, but the blinking blue light at the top of the display signaled an unread message. She swallowed against the sudden thickness in her throat and picked it up.

C: Can’t wait to see you. Don’t forget, I’ll be there early. ;)

The room spun, and she sank to the floor, pulse pounding in her ears, breath ragged, broken. Calm down, she told herself. This could just be a cast mate. Maybe they’re meeting early to work out a scene. Or move a set piece. She swiped the phone open and tapped on the message history with “C”.

She wasn’t prepared.

There were messages dating back nearly a month. Every day, he was chatting with C. It seemed to begin innocently enough– talk of the show, of auditions. Congratulations being sent both ways on their respective roles. Talk of castmates, of costumes, of rehearsal times and photo opportunities. 

And then, the innocence wore off. C became more flirty. More forward. Zen seemed to brush her off at first, then began reciprocating her advances. She sent photos of herself. Suggestive, but not blatantly sexual. 

Plush lips, painted coral. I can’t stop thinking about the way you kissed me in rehearsal last night. It felt real.

A peek of cleavage. Want to see more? <3

A glimpse of thigh in a sheer, knee-high stocking. I miss you. Can you stay afterward tonight?

Zen sent photos of himself, too. Familiar lips, puckered for a kiss. Thought about you all day. Let’s knock their socks off with our chemistry tonight.

A selfie in front of the bathroom mirror, a hand swiped through the condensation, his broad chest front and center. Wish you were here…

The last one set her blood boiling: Zen’s fully erect cock, his hand wrapped around the base of it. You were amazing last night. Can’t wait to see you again.

His messages were cheap. Sickening. Out of character for the Zen she knew and loved. She threw his phone against the wall and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. It felt like a nightmare. Like someone else’s life. She dug her nails into her arm and pinched until the skin turned black and blue, but it didn’t make a difference. She was already awake. 

This was her reality.

The sound of the front door slamming roused her a few minutes later. Palming tears from her cheeks, she stood up and steadied herself before she made her way out to the living room, dazed and exhausted.

He was home. 

“Jagi, hey.” He was out of breath and looked worried as he smoothed a hand over his hair, avoiding her gaze. “I gotta get back to rehearsal, but I forgot my phone, and I– “ He paused and caught sight of her face– red and swollen from crying– and heard her quiet sniffle, watching her shuffle from foot to foot, arms folded over her chest as if she were holding herself together. “Whoa! What is it? Tell me…” His eyes went wide and he moved to pull her into an embrace, but she backed away from him, shaking her head. She bent down, picked up his phone, and held it between them, her entire body trembling.

“Who is she?” she whispered, hoarse and broken.

The color drained from his face, and he opened his mouth, but found himself incapable of coherent speech. 

She asked again, this time with more venom. “Who is she, Hyun?”

He held up his hands as if under arrest. “Listen, it’s not what it looks like, I– “

“Fuck you! How fucking stupid do you think I am!?” 

On the floor at her feet now lay the evidence of his transgressions– his phone, shattered into a million tiny pieces. Her jaw tightened, and a blood-curdling scream rose up from her throat. When he tried again to reach out and pull her into an embrace, she swiped at him, then turned and pounded her fists against the wall, her body racked with heaving sobs. 

“Get. Out.”

“But babe, I– “

“I SAID GET OUT!” 

Her cry was primal, terrifying, painful. It rose from the depths of her soul to the very tip of her tongue, and she hurtled her tiny body toward him, shoving him toward the door so hard he stumbled and nearly fell. Once he was outside, she slammed and locked the door in his face, leaving him completely bewildered on the other side, his palm pressed against the glass, carnelian eyes swimming with tears. 

God, he was so fucking beautiful. Even in the face of his sins, his heart on his sleeve, all his faults now laid bare– he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on.

And he had been hers.

Had been.

She would have him no more. The thought of him inside someone else– whispering his passions against her ear, telling her she was perfect for him, that he loved fucking her and she felt so good wrapped around his cock– made her stomach lurch and she sprinted for the bathroom, barely lifting the lid of the toilet before her lunch was rising up in her throat. 

Zen had watched her run, then turned and jumped on his motorcycle. He didn’t return to rehearsal that night. 

Hours later, after crying herself to sleep, she squinted at her phone in the darkness of her bedroom, a trembling finger hovering above a particular number. After a moment of hesitation and a shaky sigh, she pressed send and laid the phone against her ear. 

“Hello?”

Her quiet breath turned into a strangled sob on his name. “Yoosung…”

~~~~  
Yoosung answered her call even before the first ring had ended. Her name left his lips on a whisper of concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Through broken sobs, she tried to explain, but all Yoosung could understand was something about Zen and that whore and how she didn’t know what she was going to do now. 

He was at her door in less than 10 minutes. When she didn’t answer his frantic knocks, he let himself in and found her in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor, wrapped in one of Zen’s oversized hoodies. Sound asleep, a shining trail of saliva trailing from the corner of her slightly parted lips, she looked every bit the shattered heart. 

Yoosung’s own heart began to thrum uncomfortably against his ribs, and he sat down next to her on the floor. A tentative hand reached out to push an errant lock of hair away from her face, but he hesitated, unsure of whether or not he should touch her. She sighed and curled further into herself, drawing her knees tight against her chest.

He watched her sleep for nearly an hour. When she finally woke, he forgot how to breathe. 

She blinked owlishly and sat upright with great effort and a loud sniffle, scrubbing at her face with the heels of her hands. “Yoosung. How long have you been here?” Her throat was dry, and she coughed, which threw Yoosung Into an even deeper panic, and he felt ready to jump out of his skin.

“I dunno. Maybe an hour? Are…are you alright?”

She took a moment to study his face, a bit disoriented. Red-rimmed eyes swept the bedroom, and her brow twitched as confusion registered heavy on her delicate features. Tears burned hot behind prickling eyelids, blurring her vision before she blinked and set them free to trace fresh tracks down her face.

Yoosung gasped and patted her shoulder, shuffling a little closer and ducking his head to look at her. “I, um. I don’t know what he did to you, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry Zen hurt you.”

She managed a weak nod before she leaned against his shoulder. Yoosung sat ramrod straight, his hand hovering over her back for a second before he decided to pat her, trying to be reassuring but waging his own war against his heart, which seemed to have blocked his throat.

“Did you eat?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to take her mind off the situation at hand.

She laughed– a thin, pathetic sound. “No. I was going to make a microwave dinner, but then…” she trailed off, remembering that just hours before, the world had come crashing down around her. She felt suffocated, dizzy. Hollow.

Yoosung jumped to his feet. “I’ll order some takeout. If you eat, you’ll feel better, I promise. At least– at least for a little while." 

The delivery driver got lost and arrived an hour late with lukewarm kimchi, but they ate it anyway, from styrofoam plates on the living room floor, their backs against the couch. Yoosung turned on a cartoon movie, and she hugged his arm, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. He stayed until the wee hours of the morning, until she spit out the entire story of what happened to her. He stayed until she fell asleep, her warm weight resting against his chest, and he pressed his nose into her hair. She smelled like coconut and flowers, and her hair tickled his nose when he inhaled. 

His subsequent sneeze stirred her from a restless sleep, and when she smiled up at him, his pulse began to race again. "Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

Her quiet laugh was balm for his worried soul. “It’s okay,” she said, stretching, groaning. “What time is it anyway?” she asked as she turned to look out the window into the pitch black of night. 

“Yoosung! Why didn’t you wake me? You should go.” There was a certain urgency in her tone, and she scrambled to her feet, pulling him with her. “Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

Bewildered, he rocked back on his heels and looked at his feet, trying to hide the blushing heat that made his entire face feel like it was on fire. “Yeah, but not until later. Tomorrow is my easy day.” He shrugged. “I could, um, stay here with you. If, if you want some company.”

She refused his offer, citing the need to shower and sort through some things on her own. She wasn’t able to meet his violet gaze, though, and felt both guilty and sad for sending him away. After a long, scalding shower, she towel dried her hair and shuffled to the kitchen. 

Zen stood just inside the door, his hand on the doorknob. 

Heart and lungs worked overtime at the sight of him, looking weary and shattered. Dark half moons hung under his eyes, which seemed to have lost their brilliance. His silver hair was pushed into a sloppy, makeshift bun, and his clothes were wrinkled and disheveled. He reeked of alcohol and stale tobacco smoke. 

“What are you doing here?” She hissed, taking two steps backward, shaking her head. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry–

“I wanted to talk. I wanted to call you last night, but…” he faltered and lowered his head. 

“You wanted to what, Hyun? Tell me– tell me how sorry you are? How you didn’t mean to stick your cock in her? How you didn’t really want to fuck her but oh well, you did anyway, and now you want to come crawling back and explain it all to me?” With each syllable, her voice rose until she was screeching at the top of her lungs, the blood rushing in her ears, coursing hot and fast through her veins, rising to her cheeks and the tips of her ears until her face turned a deep, deep crimson and she was crying again.

“Oh, babe– “

“Don’t! Call me that,” she said on an incredulous laugh. “Just get your shit, and get out of here. I’m sick just looking at you, let alone smelling you.” She wrinkled her nose and filled the coffeemaker with water. 

He took two hesitant steps toward the hall that led to their room. “Can I shower here? I promise I won’t stay long. I’ll pack a bag, and– “

“Whatever.” A dismissive wave of her arm, her back turned, she continued making coffee, unable to look at him. “Just hurry up. I don’t want you here.”

His nod was resolute, defeated. “Yeah, ok. But eventually, we’ll have to talk.”

She jerked her head around and glared at him. “No, Hyun. We don’t have to do anything. You lost your right to explain the moment you made the choice to sleep with her.” She was trembling with rage and had to steady herself against the kitchen counter. “I, just…” A heavy, quivering sigh. “I can’t right now. I need more time.”

He was quick. He threw necessities for a few days into an overnight bag and slipped away quietly while she sat at the kitchen table and sipped her coffee, stone faced, indifferent. Only when he had gone did she allow the tears to fall again.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

She took two days away from work and told her boss she had the flu, but when she returned, everyone in the office knew the truth. Sympathetic eyes watched as she made the trek to her desk– had it always been so long? – and she spent the majority of the day fending off questions and well-meaning coworkers offering their advice and condolences. She had to turn off her phone to avoid calls and messages from Saeyoung, Jumin, Jaehee, and especially Yoosung, who texted and called between every class he attended. Zen had attempted to call a few times from an unfamiliar number, but when she told Saeyoung, he promptly had the number blocked. 

She wasn’t ready to face him. And she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her so utterly destroyed. No, when they met again, she wanted to be strong, confident, and able to show him that she didn’t need him after all. That she could rise above his betrayal and move on without him.

Two minutes after she left her office and turned her phone back on, Yoosung was calling. His cheerful greeting warmed her entire being, and she agreed to let him come over. He wanted to cook for her. Sure, it was for extra credit in a class, but the sentiment was there, and she smiled, finding herself excited for his company. 

The walk home seemed a little brighter, a little shorter. Just as she was unlocking the front door, Yoosung called to her from his jog up the sidewalk, waving his arm above his head. She greeted him with a smile and a welcoming hug, resting her cheek against his chest and taking a deep breath. His arms hung at his sides for a moment, surprise registering in his wide, violet eyes before he folded her in his half of their embrace. She giggled happily and burrowed her face even further against him, grabbing onto the hem of his jacket to solidify her position.

Over the din of punk rock music, they prepared what might possibly have been the worst shrimp fried rice she had ever eaten. The cooking was far more enjoyable than the dish itself, so after they gave it a good shot, they decided that maybe a dinner out would be the best idea. Yoosung brought her to his favorite restaurant, and over steaming hotpot, he charmed her with stories of college, of his online adventures, of his awkward social encounters everywhere he went. They split the bill, then took a walk through the park, visited a bar and had a couple of drinks on the patio; by the end of the day she had all but forgotten about Hyun Ryu and his grave indiscretion.

As they were leaving the bar, both of them feeling a little tipsy and giddy, a familiar laugh set her on high alert. Zen, with his arm draped around the waist of a gorgeous, black-haired woman. Upon first sight, he looked radiant, happy, positively glowing. A hush fell over the scene, and Yoosung’s hand tightened around hers as he locked eyes with Zen, who had frozen in his tracks. The woman at his side asked him what the matter was, and when he didn’t answer, she peered up at his face, then to Yoosung’s. “Oh,” she breathed, the realization of who stood before them dawning on her, albeit a bit slowly.

“Yoosung,” Zen said. Her name upon his tongue felt foreign, barbed and painful. She flinched when he said it, and shook her head, ducking behind Yoosung and nudging him forward. 

“Excuse us,” Yoosung stated, shouldering his way past Zen and his companion. Maybe he pushed a little too hard, because Zen whirled around, fist raised, eyes wild. The two women gasped, and Yoosung cowered at first, then squared his shoulders and stared up at Zen. “Do it,” he threatened. “I dare you.”

Zen just laughed and shook his head, threading his arm back around his companion to pull her away. A longing glance over his shoulder betrayed his superficial joy, and one would have to be blind to have missed the sadness in his eyes as he watched Yoosung walk away with the best thing that had ever happened to him.

She dozed off on Yoosung’s shoulder in the back of a taxi on the way home. It began to rain– large, angry drops pelting down on the windows, and by the time they arrived at Yoosung’s apartment, it was a torrential downpour. They sprinted to his front door, shouting in the deluge, soaking wet in a matter of seconds. 

Breathless, laughing, they burst through the front door, falling against each other as they kicked off their shoes and stripped out of their rain-soaked clothes without a second thought. 

Their nudity didn’t register to either of them at first. She stood in the tiny bathroom of his studio apartment, toweling her hair dry while Yoosung dug around in his room for a clean shirt and pants for her to wear. After sniffing and ultimately rejecting two other options, he found some to be les offensive than the others and called to her on his way to the bathroom. 

He stood in the doorway and fell quiet at the sight of her in a bra and panties. 

She turned and smiled at him at first, but grew serious when she, too, realized what had happened. He approached slowly, maintaining eye contact, a trembling hand reaching up to touch the towel that she had stopped rubbing over her hair. 

And before she could react properly, his lips found hers in a tentative, hesitant kiss. She gasped, then closed her eyes. The towel fell to the floor when he deepened the kiss, wet tongue sliding over hers, a little too eager, a little too forceful.

It was the distraction she needed. The affection she craved. Everything in her being cried out for release, for a blessed intrusion. For someone or something to help her forget what Zen had done to her. Yoosung’s touch was desperate, greedy, possessive. She reciprocated in kind, wishing she could just dissolve into his skin, to be carried around in his light, his breath, his being. 

She slept soundly for the first time in weeks, tangled limbs in tangled sheets, her emptiness a forgotten nightmare in Yoosung’s tender embrace.

~~~~~

Zen hadn’t slept soundly in weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, she appeared. Her radiant smile, her belly laugh, the cute way she would always try to talk to him through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. Her gentle, genuine kindness, her quiet confidence, her tender, affectionate embrace. The way she would wake him in the morning, long hair tickling his chest, slender fingers curling around his– 

“Earth to Zen!” a voice heavy with impatience called. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, knitting his brow in confusion. The stage lights felt too bright, too hot, and he looked up, shielding his eyes against the glaring heat. Dark shadows all around, filled with castmates, crew, and set pieces seemed to be closing in on him, and suddenly he felt trapped. It had been years since he’d experienced stage fright, and here he was– the final dress rehearsal for the show that heralded the beginning of his end– throat constricting, face burning. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe.

The sharp click of character shoes striding across the stage brought him out of his nightmare, and he looked to his left, releasing a bit of air, puffing his cheeks. But when his beautiful, dark-haired co-star touched his arm, he flinched and pulled away from her, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, taking a handful of clumsy steps in the opposite direction.

She scowled. “Zen, what the hell is going on? We open tomorrow night!” 

Words felt heavy, clumsy on his tongue, thick and intrusive. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and ripped off his mic with trembling fingers. “I can’t. I can’t do it,” he said, breaking into a sprint. He pushed against the backstage door and fled. He ran until his lungs burned, pulling off pieces of his costume, his wig, smearing the makeup from his face with the back of his hand. He ran until his legs threatened to give out, then stumbled onto the front step of her apartment, hand pressed against the red brick exterior, sucking in all the oxygen he could find.

He knew it was late, but he knocked anyway. He knocked until he heard a quiet commotion from inside, and the voice murmuring quietly in tandem with hers raised the hair on the back of his neck. 

Yoosung. 

It was she who opened the door though, just enough to stick her face out and glare at him, her eyes heavy with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

Hyun Ryu unravelled. His lip curled, his eyes swam with tears. If he thought it would help, he would have fallen to his knees to beg her. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I did. For what I’ve done. I know I can’t take it back, but if I could, I would. All of it. I wouldn’t have even auditioned for the show. I can’t live without you. I’m not living without you. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t…” he sighed heavily as the tears fell unchecked down his skin, streaked black with the remnants of his stage makeup, a stark contrast to the smooth, alabaster skin beneath. “I can’t do this. Please…please talk to me.”

Yoosung called her name in a question from inside the living room, and she turned, assuring him that it would be okay. That she had it under control. She slipped outside and closed the door behind her, wrapping her wool cardigan around herself, arms crossed. A breeze blew through her hair, obscuring her face, and Zen reached out to push her bangs away. She allowed it, eyes downcast, his fingertips raising goosebumps on her skin where he touched. Against her better judgement, she leaned into his palm when he cupped her cheek, her own fingers curling around his wrist, and she took a step forward, eyes searching. Pleading. Questioning.

“Why, Zen?” she whispered, her voice shattering under the weight of everything else she wanted to say. “I just…want to know why.”

He gulped, then parted his lips on a sharp intake of breath. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I just…I wish I had a valid reason, but I don’t. There is no good excuse. I love you so, so much jagiya and I– “

She pushed his hand away and shook her head, wiping away fresh tears with the back of her hand. “No, don’t say that. Please. If you loved me like you say you do, you wouldn’t have done it. My Zen wouldn’t have. I don’t know who you are, but you…you’re not my Zen.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. She embraced herself even tighter, averting her eyes to the quiet street before them. “I want to ask so many questions. But I don’t– I don’t know if I really want to hear the answers.”

They stood in silence for quite some time. Zen’s arms itched to hold her, to pull him to her and make her feel the love that still coursed through his veins with every beat of his heart. He clenched his fists and bit his tongue, knowing that any touch, any word, would never be enough to placate her. 

“If you want to ask, I’ll answer. But I will also understand if you don’t want to know. I’m so ashamed of myself. I want you to know that. Every day I wake up without you is a nightmare. I feel like I’ve lost a part of my soul…” he choked on a sob and found himself unable to hold back anymore. He pulled her into his embrace, hand cradling the back of her head, face buried into the crown of her hair. She, too, wept against his chest, gathering fistfuls of his shirt and pressing him against her as hard as she could. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and lifted her face to capture her mouth in a desperate, tearful kiss. Hair was gathered and pulled with greedy hands, teeth met with tender flesh, wet tongues flicked over parted lips and cleaned salty tears from ruddy cheeks and wet lashes. Zen’s hands slid down the backs of her thighs, and when he squeezed, she responded, letting him lift her and locking her legs around his waist. 

Her back met with cool brick and she gasped into his mouth as he continued his onslaught, both of them breathing the same air as he ground his hips against hers. “I love you, I love you so much,” he moaned against her neck, her name like a prayer upon his sinner’s lips.

And just as suddenly as it began, it was over. She pushed hard against his chest, finding her footing on the concrete porch and dragging a hand across the back of her mouth. Zen staggered backward, raking a hand through his hair, eyes clouded with lust, with confusion. “But I…”

“I can’t, Zen. Yoosung…” she gestured sadly toward the door, then thumbed over her lower lip, already missing the stroke of his mouth upon hers. “He…they…” she sighed. “You’ve destroyed so many things. And for what? Your work? Your career?” Hand upon the doorknob, she turned it, then looked back at him before slipping quietly inside. “Come by tomorrow and get your stuff, okay? It’s too late tonight. I’m so, so tired. You…have somewhere to stay, right?”

His nod was subtle, defeated. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants and scuffed his foot on the step. “Yeah. Temporary, but yeah.” He turned and descended the steps to the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

She leaned against the inside of the door, palms pressed against the smooth, cool wood, eyes closed. Yoosung’s gentle voice fell on her ears like a song.

“Are you alright?” he asked, soft fingertips grazing her cheek. 

She could only nod, eyes squeezed shut. When she managed to speak, it was strangled, painful. “Thank you Yoosung.”

She collapsed against him and let him guide her to bed, one arm slung steady over her shoulder, the other around her waist, fully supporting her as they walked together to her bed. He didn’t ask her for a thing, but tucked her in, brushed her hair away from her forehead, and planted a gentle kiss just above her brow before stepping toward the kitchen. Her quiet whisper stopped him in his tracks. “Yoosung? Where are you going?”

He turned and offered a small smile and a shrug of his narrow shoulders. “I just need to make a phone call.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, panic making her heart race. “No, please…leave it be tonight. I told him to come back tomorrow, and we’ll sort out his things then.”

“I’m not calling Zen, don’t worry,” he reassured her, rushing back to kneel at her side. He kissed her then, just a gentle peck on the lips, and laced his fingers with hers. “Just calling in a favor.”

Her brow furrowed and she studied his face, much to Yoosung’s amusement. “Yoosung, it’s so late. Are you sure– “

“It’s for Zen. I promise, it will just take a second. Get some rest. I’ll be back soon, okay?” I love you, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

In the darkness of the tiny kitchen, Yoosung leaned against the counter and held the phone to his ear. After three rings, a sleep-laden voice answered. “Yoosung, do you have any idea what time it is? You’ve just interrupted Elizabeth the Third’s sleep cycle.”

“Listen, Jumin. You have lots of bodyguards, right?”

Jumin grunted, then sighed softly. Yoosung could almost picture him, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes closed in exasperation. “Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“No!” Yoosung shouted, then lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “No, I need someone now. Someone to look after Zen, to…to make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb.” He inhaled deeply, then exhaled with just as much force. “Keep him safe, okay? If not for me, then…for her.” His eyes shifted back to the bedroom and he smiled. “She’s worth it, don’t you think?”

In the quiet calm of his bedroom, stroking the sleek, white fur of his cat, Jumin nodded, resolute. “I’ll make the call right away. And Yoosung?”

He stammered. “Yeah, yes?”

“She’s lucky to have you. But you must swear to me that you won’t break her heart, because– “

“I swear on my life, Jumin!” he cried. “I couldn’t do that to her! I’m sad that you could even think that!”

“I had to be sure. I do hope you understand. Right, then. I’ll make the call. If I need any more information, I’ll be in touch.” The call ended, and Yoosung tiptoed back to the bedroom where she lay bundled in blankets, sound asleep. He slipped in beside her and pulled her against him, resting easy in his decision. Proud that he could take care of everything. 

Meanwhile, in a quiet, back alley bar, Zen downed his second shot of whiskey and lit a cigarette, oblivious to the stranger who entered and seated himself two barstools away, pressing his fingers to a hidden earpiece.

“Subject located. I’ll get him home safe.”


End file.
